


i don’t work jobs (i am a job)

by peachyteabuck



Category: Defending Jacob (TV 2020)
Genre: DDLG, F/M, Face Slapping, Reward/punishment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:26:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28217676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachyteabuck/pseuds/peachyteabuck
Summary: andy needs to teach you that “staying at home” doesn’t preclude a little thing called “work.”
Relationships: Andy Barber/Reader, Andy Barber/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	i don’t work jobs (i am a job)

Being forced to start working from home had been somewhat of a blessing. Keeping inside had lowered your anxieties about the general state of the world and its affect on the both of you, and the suddenness of it all left time to finish projects, television shows you hadn’t watched for so long they’d erased themselves from your Netflix queue, and books that had long since been treated as coasters.

Ever since the beginning you’d known it was temporary, that eventually things would begin to move back into the realm of normal – including (but not limited to) Andy having to _work_ at home instead of catch up on paperwork, write some briefs, do other bureaucratic lawyer-y stuff. Particularly, this meant _meetings_ , meetings he had to pay attention to, meetings he had to pay attention to _instead_ of paying attention to you. Big girl you understood this well: you kept the TV volume low, never moved furniture, made sure to do the quiet parts of meal preparation when he said he was in an important meeting with coworkers or clients.

Little you, however, did not handle the devastating news of your forced silence very well.

“But _Daddy_ ,” you whined – cross legged on the bed as you watched him put on a full work-appropriate outfit (even in a pandemic he couldn’t do anything work related in sweatpants) – and clutched the obnoxiously large arctic seal stuffie to your chest. “Daddy you’re _home_! Why can’t you pay attention to me!”

Andy avoids looking at you in the mirror as his finishes the knot in his tie. When you’re not in little space it’s quite easy to explain the intricacies of a stay-at-home order, of working from home at a job that affects so many people. But inside of this special headspace, especially when you were feeling a little on the bratty side, Andy felt like he was defending the doctorate thesis he never wrote. Everything, _everything_ , he says is challenged and questioned and contested and he can’t snap at you if he doesn’t want to deal with the massive fallout of a meltdown (once you spent an hour screaming because the grocery store was out of the type of juice you wanted from the specific brand you like – and that was _before_ the entire world crumbled around you).

He sighs deeply as he finally turns to face you, his face apologetic as he does so. “Daddy as _one_ meeting he has to attend today, okay?”

You _hmpf_ but say nothing else, clutching your stuffie tighter.

“And once Daddy’s done with that, we can spend time together…” he watches your face carefully. “Okay, baby? Can you behave for Daddy while he’s in his meeting?”

Another _hmpf_ from you; another sigh from Andy.

“If you stay quiet, Daddy will reward you,” he acquiesces, knowing full well a temper tantrum could bring a much larger battle Andy doesn’t have the energy (nor time, as his Smart Watch indicates he has twenty minutes before the meeting).

You seem dissatisfied with the lack of immediate attention, but with some fruit snacks and a sippy cup full of your favorite juice the man eventually got your paci clipped to your shirt and had you seated under his desk – your stuffie still in hand as you continue to pout. When he pulls away from you after placing you on your playmat, you immediately let out a small whine.

“I dare you to do that again,” he tells you, teeth bared, and eyes narrowed. “I fucking _dare_ you.”

With wide eyes and a gulp, you recede further under the large desk, staying quiet as Andy pops the paci in your mouth.

“Now be quiet,” he murmurs as he checks himself in the camera and puts his Airpods in his ears. “And that isn’t a suggestion.”

The best thing about Andy’s large personal desk in his home office is not that it’s large (and therefore fits its own playmat and menagerie of stuffies), but also that it’s made of glass. This means you can watch Andy with big, waiting, _wanting_ eyes as he talks about all that complicated legal stuff your little brain can’t comprehend. It’s not even a meeting with a client, just a meeting about some change that you, truly, couldn’t even _begin_ to explain. Words like _higher court, appeal, supreme court, jurisprudence_ are thrown around with ease, all while you play with the other stuffies Andy had kept in their spots the last time he needed to keep you occupied while he did work at his desk.

Then, though, papers and sticky notes and paper clips and pens of every color on the market (both ball and felt) covered every inch of the workspace, separating you and him as he did whatever it is assistant district attorneys do. Plus, then he could give you little head pats and take breaks every so often to give you attention. Now, Andy was stuck with his back straight and eyes forward and entire being focused on the work in front of him, all without any input from you on the matter.

It’s stifling and upsetting, to say the least.

As you stage elaborate scenarios with your collection of stuffies, you get lost in it. The good news is Andy popped the paci into your mouth so your noises are muffled enough not to get picked up by the microphone in the wireless earbuds he uses.

The bad news, however, is that your arms are uninhibited.

Andy looks down at you each time you bump at his leg, eyes narrow with a single brow raised.

 _Behave_ , is all the look says. You don’t attempt to disobey him, even if the thought of Andy pulling you up from the floor by your hair and spanking you over the desk – all with the looming threat of his colleagues hearing if he didn’t make sure to mute himself before delivering your punishment. It’s a fantasy you’d love to explore, but for now you’re stuck under this gigantic desk with your Daddy able to watch your every move with the simple movement of his pupils. It’s a good way to ensure your good behavior, but a terrible dent in any bratty plans your brain tries to concoct while in little space.

Despite these pressures, time passes without much notice from you, your only indication it being so much later than when the meeting had started being the dark winter night outside instead of the bright sun shining through the windows.

“I’m all done, baby,” you hear Andy coo. When you look up, his tie is loosened, and his smile is wide. “Daddy’s all done with the meetings for today.”

His smile gets impossible brighter as you finally understand what he’s telling you, your paci dropping out of your mouth as your own smile begins to mirror his.

“Daddy finish?” you ask, suddenly terrified you’d misunderstood him.

Andy nods. “Yeah, baby, Daddy’s all finished with work.”

It doesn’t take much more to convince you to crawl out from under the desk and into his arms, squealing with glee as he puts you on his hip. 

From there, Andy carries you into the bedroom. His arms strong enough to support you as you work to unbutton his shirt, even as he goes up the stairs and pushes open the bedroom door.

You’re deposited on the floor as Andy sits on the bed, watching your desperate eyes follow his hands every move as he moves to cup your chin with his dominant hand.

“You’re my little whore, aren’t you?” he asks, watching your face as you gulp and give him a small nod.

A _SLAP!_ to your cheeksurprises you, makes you gasp as his other hand catches your head.

“Yeah, you are, such a little whore for me.”

Another _SLAP!_ is delivered without much warning, the entire encounter making you so wet and desperate you think you’d cry if he denied you one more second of his touch.

But then Andy speaks words you never thought you’d be so excited to hear, words you’d beg to be spoken if he so wished:

“Now come and sit in my lap so I can make you come so hard you cry.”

You scramble to follow his command even as he places himself in the top-center of the bed and leans against the ornate headboard. As you approach, he manhandles you so your back is pressed against his chest, the buttons from his undone shirt pressing through the loose striped t-shirt you had “borrowed” from his closet that morning – making intents in your back you’re sure will be there for awhile.

For a second you think he’s going to fuck you rough, a merciless reward for the merciless endeavor of silence.

Instead, though, his hands place themselves over your trembling thighs.

“You’re such a beautiful little girl,” he murmurs into your hairline, rough fingertips tracing stretch marks and indents from the playmat that had left themselves on your skin. “Such a lucky man for you to call me Daddy…”

The contrast between the tenderness in his voice and the lingering sting in your cheek is making your head spin in the best way.

You’re so distracted by his voice you can barely feel his hands pushing up the shirt, exposing more and more of your upper thighs until your panties are exposed.

They’re one of your favorite pairs – simple, cotton ones that accentuate your hips (with bruises courtesy of the man whose arms are wrapped around you). In their plainness you find sophistication and elegance; your desire for the feeling never leaving you despite whatever headspace you’re in.

“These panties I bought look so cute on you,” he whispers into your ear, sending shivers of your spine. “You’ll look especially cute when I pull them to the side and fuck you with my fingers until you cry.”

A whimper escapes your lips, the sound quickly replaced with a moan as a finger is inserted into your dripping sex.

“Were you going to say something?” he nearly purrs. “Or are you going to continue to be Daddy’s good girl and not say a word?”

Your weak means high in your throat makes him smile as another finger is slipped into your pussy, bent _just_ enough to find that special spot inside of you that makes you cry out in pleasure.

“ _There_ we go,” Andy coos into your ear. “There we go, baby, make all those sounds for me…just no words, baby girl, no words…”

It’s easy to follow directions when your brain has been so thoroughly melted you’re not even sure you could ask for water, let alone articulate anything other than wanton moans and the occasional blissed out _“Daddy…”_

One finger, then another, joins the two already inside you as his thumb circles your clit. It’s _so much_ , the feeling of him inside of you overwhelming all of your senses. The coil in your abdomen tightens with each thrust, each curling of his fingers making sparks of pleasure fly along each of your nerves.

“You’re my pretty little baby,” he coos, placing kisses on your cheek as you cry out. “My pretty baby, all spread out for me, taking my fingers so well.”

Another moan rips itself from your chest, causing Andy’s sinister smile to widen even further.

His accent thickens as he speaks, deep voice sending shivers from your spine to your cunt. “You gonna come for me? You gonna come all over Daddy’s fingers?”

You nod furiously, pussy tightening around his fingers as you near your peak.

“Oh _yes_ , baby,” he coos. “Yes baby, come for Daddy!”

You come with a loud scream erupting from your chest, your entire body feeling like its on fire as Andy keeps you locked in his arms and on his lap. It takes awhile for you to come down, but when your vision returns and your body stops shaking, he’s is right there (now only in his underwear) to cuddle you under the covers.

“Can we do that every time you have a meeting?” you ask, nuzzling into his broad, bare chest.

Andy smiles, leaning down to kiss you on your forehead. “Of course, my love. Of course.”


End file.
